


The Devil Leaves the Porchlight On

by zemenipearls (ayaanle)



Series: The Dread South [1]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst, Bank Robbery, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Dark, Fade to Black, Heist, Love Triangles, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Religious overtones, Southern Gothic, This will be dark, Unrequited Love, jesper centric, no one is a good guy, this will be atmospheric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23801038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayaanle/pseuds/zemenipearls
Summary: Alabama. 1934.The Fahey family was chased out of their prosperous  community in Little Rock, Arkansas after a violent racially-motivated attack. A man named Pekka seems determined to steal the farm out from under them and will stop at nothing. Jesper is approached by the neighboring Rietveld farm to join a heist, that could change all of their fortunes.TW: This will have at least one character death, and has descriptions of racial hate crimes and generally deep south terribleness
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker/Jesper Fahey
Series: The Dread South [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830427
Comments: 33
Kudos: 103





	1. Pawns in an Indifferent Universe

_ Smoke. _

_ Shouting. _

_ His mother's arms wrapped around him tight and he was carried out of bed. There were strange voices. Men's voices. A wet rag thrown over his mouth. "Breathe shallow baby," his mother whispered. He heard his father's voice too. Shouting back at angry men. Then cries of pain, the sound of fists on flesh. He didn't hear his father's voice anymore.  _

_ They ran onto the street, and Jesper tried to peek. Their house was on fire. A large cross was on fire in front of it. His mother yelled for help. Neighbors rushed out with pails. But it was too late. Too much damage to everything they owned. He started to cry for his blanket.  _

_ The Reverend from down the street ran and ushered them to safety. Men came with guns and clubs, to help a man being beaten. His father. Jesper cried harder. But they managed to beat most of the men dressed like ghosts. For now. Before they came back with guns of their own. _

**Alabama. 1934.**

A lone figure stood in a field. His skin was dark, and darkened more by long days working outside. Before, they had dreams of University. Places that accepted negroes. Now he was back doing the work his grandparents had been forced to. But instead of dwelling on the unfairness of life, Jesper raised his farm scythe and cut a powerful swath. The only hint at his mixed heritage were his stormy-gray eyes. They matched his father’s.

It wasn't much land, but it was his. It belonged to his family. And it was remote enough that they didn't encounter people much. The occasional traveling salesman, but the Faheys discouraged visitors. Anything they needed, they drove into town, shotgun stored in the backseat. 

Colm Fahey loved Aditi Hilli so much, he married her even though it was illegal in 31 states. And they had a child that was considered a bastard despite their marriage. 

A small crucifix adorned their front door. In the middle of Baptist revival country, his father was devotedly Catholic. Despite never seeing the man pray, he grew up with communion, rosaries, and the reminder of long suffering people. Whether Irish or Black, united in guilt and grief and a soul-deep ache for something better. 

Jesper glanced up as he saw a murder of crows take flight. They had the right idea, leaving this godforsaken land. He missed Little Rock. Their thriving community. Not this emptiness and incompleteness. 

Instead he wielded his scythe. His guns hung up on his wall. And a rosary dangled from his neck as he bent over the plants. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he went to the porch, where his father was sitting on a rocking chair. Colm Fahey had rough hands and weathered skin from farm life, his formerly bright red hair now shot through this gray and dulled from age, and fine wrinkles settling into his skin that gave way to the ugly scars along his jaw and neck. Remnants of that fateful night in Little Rock. He also was missing a couple of fingers on his left hand that had been amputated, and had a limp. The cost of being tolerant.

“Your ma brought out some tea,” Colm called out as Jesper wiped his face. “Take a break.”

Jesper nodded, sitting on the stoop and taking a glass from the small table outside. The Alabama summer heat was relentless. Dusk would settle soon and the cicadas would begin their nightly shrieks, only to leave husks for Jesper to find the next day. But there was always work to be done. Always the future to be wary of. 

When the heat broke, Jesper decided to take a walk to the nearby pond. It wasn’t much but it was nice, and a small bit of joy in the day. The lightning bugs meandered lazily as he kicked off his shoes in the soft earth.

“Fahey?” Came a voice from behind.

Jesper’s revolver was in his hand in a heartbeat and he pointed it at the source. A slender, average-height young man stood in front of him. Maybe around his own age. His hair was cut short and combed back, and he had severe features. “I’m not here for a fight,” he said, holding his hands up. He wore a white collared shirt tucked into his pants, had a cane in his left hand, and wore gloves. Jesper didn’t know how anyone could be wearing gloves in this weather.

“Get to stepping, this is my land,” Jesper shot back. 

“I’m Kaz Rietveld. I own the adjoining property.”

Jesper arched a brow. “You ain’t sound like anyone from around here.”

The other man’s jaw twitched. “I’m not. I’m from Rotterdam. Via New York.”

“Then why are you standing on the Fahey farm in Alabama?”

“Wanted to get to know my neighbors,” he said. Jesper didn’t believe him. Neighbors could be kind, or they could tie a noose around your neck.

“You best be leaving,” Jesper said again. His grip on the revolver tightened, and Kaz looked down.

“Has a man named Pekka Rollins approached you?” Kaz asked him.

That got Jesper’s attention. Rollins was another Irish man in these parts, who repeatedly tried to strike up conversation with his Da. Who seemed interested in buying the farm. Who didn’t know that Colm had a negro wife and son. “What about him, Rietveld? Everyone knows everyone in this area.”

“It would seem not everyone knows the entirety of the Fahey family. Rumors perhaps but -”

Jesper would not tolerate the mere  _ suggestion _ of a threat against his family and pointed the gun higher. “You want to continue that line?”

“Defensive, are you?”

“Men can die and be thrown into a swamp in these parts,” Jesper said matter-of-factly. “And never be heard from again. So please state your business and  _ leave _ .”

Kaz sighed, seemingly aware that Jesper wasn’t going to lower his guard. “Pekka is trying to buy out the farms around here and encourage stores not to buy from us. I have it on good resource that he wants to make us all suffer.”

“And?” Jesper asked. He was fine. Rietveld likely didn’t know that the Faheys mainly sold to black grocers. Especially in Mobile and Birmingham. “You out here out of the goodness of your heart?”

“No,” he said truthfully. “I want your help stopping him.”

“White men coming onto our farm asking us to get in trouble? I’m gonna ask you to leave, Rietveld. Don’t ever come here again.”

He straightened his spine but then gave a curt nod before turning around and walking away. Jesper kept his trigger finger ready until he disappeared into the night air. He visibly relaxed, and then sat down in the soft dirt and put his feet in the pond.

The next morning Jesper half expected to see a cross burning on his field, and was pleasantly surprised to see everything was normal. But for good measure he kept his revolver at his side as he worked, telling the day workers he hired what to do so they could prepare for the next series of crops. His parents were sitting on the porch when a car approached the property, and Aditi quietly slipped inside. 

Jesper slammed the shovel into the dirt and walked into the middle of the road, forcing the car to slow to a halt. He crossed his arms, his mouth in a frown when the man got out of the car. He had sandy brown hair combed over to hide a balding spot and a large moustache. Jesper didn’t miss the glance of mistrust before the man gave him a wide smile. “I’m looking for the Fahey place.”

He didn’t respond, and the man looked visibly uncomfortable. “I’m Pekka Rollins. Can you take me to the owner, boy?”

_ Boy _ . It grated on every fiber of Jesper’s being.  _ Boy _ . Didn’t matter how grown he was. How tall. How his body was strong and lithe from the hard work he did, the sweat and blood he poured into the ground. He would always be a  _ boy _ to them. 

“Speaking,” he said finally. 

“I was told this was owned by Colm Fahey,” Rollins said.

His father limped from the porch next to Jesper. “What business you got here Rollins?” Despite the scars and injuries, Colm showed no weakness. Jesper learned strength from his parents.

“I was hoping I could come in and have a chat,” the man said in his Dublin cadence. “I have a proposition for you.”

“I make my business in the fields, I do business in the fields,” Colm said. “Grab a shovel.”

Rollins seemed taken aback as Jesper handed him the shovel he’d discarded earlier, and went to get extras. “You don’t want to have this conversation in private?” Rollins said.

“No,” Colm replied. Dirt sprayed onto Rollins’s shoes as Colm swung the hoe into the ground, the grand arch landing with a thud in the dirt. 

It was clear Rollins was made for owning farms, not working on them. Colm and Jesper looked at him with twin expressions of amusement as he tried to copy their movements. “This seems like a lot of work. Have you ever considered selling your land?”

“No.” Colm sprayed his fine tan shirt again with dirt. 

“Well I’m offering.”

“Thank you kindly for your offer, but I’m going to have to reject it.”

Rollins stopped and slumped against the shovel, an incredulous look on his face. Jesper had to roll his lips in to keep from laughing. “You haven’t even heard how much?”

“Don’t need to,” Colm said.

Rollins’s mouth opened and then closed before he inhaled deeply. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be back with a better offer.” He turned around to leave, but then paused. “Interesting eyes you got there boy.”

Colm and Jesper waved him goodbye. They watched the car drive off from the dusty road. “You got bullets for all the guns?” Colm asked. 

“I’ll make another run to town,” Jesper said.

His father nodded and went back inside.

* * * * *

It didn’t take long for the whispers to reach them, even in their remote farm town. Aditi was the first one to find the ugly graffiti sprawled on their porch.  _ N**** Lover  _ scrawled in blood red paint. The Fahey family stared at it before Jesper went inside, grabbing a gun to strap to his back, and a pail of soapy water. They scrubbed it together, as a family. Jesper didn’t sleep that night, but kept watch by the door. 

One night, a brick was thrown into the window. Aditi managed to scare them off with her own gun, but the damage was done. They covered the hole with wood. And Jesper seethed. His family had every right to live. To prosper. 

When Pekka Rollins came back in his shiny car and his white suit, the Fahey family stood in the road with their guns, the southern summer storm behind them threatening to dump rain on all of them. Rollins stepped out of the car and looked at the broken window.

“Something happen here?”

“You know damn well something happened here,” Colm bit back. 

Rollins looked Aditi up and down. It made Jesper’s skin crawl. “Built her tall huh?” 

“Mind your eyes,” Aditi said, narrowing her own.

“Tall and uppity.” Rage flooded Jesper, but Rollins kept talking. “I wanted to make you another offer.”

“I’ve got an offer for you,” Jesper retorted. He held his shotgun up, aiming it. “Leave our property or I’ll put this lead in your chest.”

“You wouldn’t -” Jesper cut him off by aiming right at his feet. The man shrieked. “You’ll pay for this!” 

That evening, Jesper found his way to the Rietveld farm. A slightly older man answered. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Kaz Rietveld.”

When Kaz approached, Jesper held out his hand. “I’m in.”Kaz looked at his hand, but didn’t take it. A pang of betrayal went through Jesper.  _ Of course. Even the ones who need you won’t shake your hands. _ Something ugly inside him solidified, even as he smiled at Kaz. 

“Great,” Kaz said. “Come in.”


	2. A Baptism in Dust and Sweat

**Tyler, Texas. 1934.**

Kaz took a slow drag out of his cigarette and leaned against the truck. The ash grew long as he stared at Jesper lounging by the other cowboys. Kaz watched the way a pretty black girl walked up to Jesper, smile on her face. He studied how Jesper reached his fingers forward to tug at a stray curl, matching smile on his features. The light caught him just so - highlighting his gray eyes.

She batted her eyes, her lips painted a pretty red. Her entire body leaned towards him and Kaz had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Every rodeo they went to, people wanted to meet Jesper after. _It’s all part of the plan,_ he told himself. Jordie was minding the farm back in Alabama and keeping an eye on the Faheys.

And here Kaz was, keeping two eyes on the other one.

He looked away when Jesper leaned forward to kiss the girl, finally flicking the ash off his cigarette. It had gotten long. _Can he fucking hurry up?_ Kaz thought. The smoke in his mouth was just enough to cover up the bitterness. When Jesper begged off his goodbye, his hands clasped on hers, Kaz finally straightened up, grabbing his cane to walk to the driver’s side. 

Jesper double checked that his belongings were secured before getting into the passenger side. “Sorry about the wait,” he said in that drawl Kaz could never get used to. He grew up in New York - everything in the South seemed sleepier. Slower. And Kaz had to learn patience like he never knew. But his patience hadn’t been tested by someone like Jesper.

“Can you hurry up next time?” He ground out, shifting the gears in the car. Jesper stretched back, putting his hands behind his head. “You’re taking up too much room. Too much fucking time.” 

“Gotta build a good reputation,” Jesper replied with a shrug. “How’s it working?”

Kaz used his knee to hold the wheel steady while he grabbed the newspaper he found. Jesper flipped it open to the part Kaz bookmarked. And began to read aloud.

_“Jesper Fahey is an unlikely cowboy - the son of famous ranchers on his mother’s side, Jesper emerged on the scene from his home in Alabama with surprising sportsmanship as if he were a native Texas son. He combines flash and finesse to take the gold in almost every competition. We here in Tyler and the Negro Cowboy Association are excited to welcome him!”_

Jesper gave a wide smile and Kaz ground his teeth before biting out a response. “My sources tell me Van Eck has his eye on you. A couple more of these and we’ll get that invitation to Louisiana.” That was the goal. Always the goal. To get to Monroe. To Van Eck’s flagship rodeo. Then the pieces would fall together. Then maybe everything would be worth it. 

The sun was finally dipping below the horizon. Jesper craned his neck towards Kaz. “You good?”

Kaz gave a curt nod, pulling from the frontage road to the interstate. 

This had been their life for three months. One show to the next in the relentless Texas sun. Or Oklahoma. Or Nebraska. Whatever new hell was concocted for Kaz. He got blisters underneath his gloves and there were grooves in the steering wheel from where he always held it. One time Jesper had joked about it. “Instead of a colored man in white gloves driving a white man, we got a white man in black gloves driving a colored man.”

Kaz glanced over at Jesper, who was already fast asleep. His long limbs were folded awkwardly, and his face was relaxed. It smelled like Jesper switched up his aftershave. No surprise since the safe places they could stop were few and far between. The Green Book of Negro Traveling was on the dashboard, and they planned their routes carefully. It made every trip hours longer, but that was the way it was.

The further away they went from the city, the worse the radio reception was until Kaz finally turned it off. 

Kaz drove until his leg hurt, and then drove some more. When it became unbearable he pulled over to the side of the road. Jesper’s eyelashes fluttered and he sat up, yawning. “Want me to take over?”

“You need to sleep or you’ll be shit at the next show,” Kaz snapped. “I can’t have you fucking this up.”

Jesper rolled his eyes and got out of the truck, slamming the door shut. Texas fields were rife with scorpions and snakes so they moved Jesper’s rodeo stuff and their bags into the front seats and turned the bed of the truck into their cot for the night. The night air was still cool and it would take awhile for the sun to rise and make everything unbearable again. 

Jesper was able to fall asleep quickly, his feet dangling off the open end. Kaz stayed awake, staring at the stars as they slowly faded. Arkansas was probably his favorite place he’d been to so far. The trees reminded him of upstate New York. This was all the key to punishing Pekka once and for all.

Kaz knew Jesper was perfect for the plan - a skilled farmer and cowherd, based on the articles he’d found before approaching him. And the rodeos were slowly moving towards commercialization and integration. Kaz didn’t think Van Eck cared at all about the latter, except that he wanted to buy out the black cowboy corrals and the money that they brought in.

When Kaz finally jolted from a dreamless sleep, he sat up, pushing his hair back. He looked to his side, half expecting to see Jesper but instead the bed of the truck was empty. Then he saw him. Rope in hand, practicing his lasso on some of the cacti nearby. Every toss was perfectly executed. 

While Kaz was already sweating through his nightshirt, Jesper seemed to revel in the mid-morning sun, stripped down to his undershirt and jeans. He rolled his eyes in annoyance as Jesper whooped, managing to lasso a particularly high cactus arm. Then he tossed the rope right around Kaz, tightening it ever so slightly.

“I fucking hate you,” Kaz said. He pulled the rope over his head. “You ready to finish the drive to Amarillo?”

“I got it,” he said. Jesper got into the driver’s side this time, and Kaz limped over to the passenger side. “You know, we can drive to hotels or something if your leg’s bad,” Jesper commented. “We can spend the money.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not wasting money on two hotel rooms.”

“Jim Crow’s a bitch,” Jesper said. They were quiet for awhile. “Your leg. Was it polio?”

Kaz had no idea why the question took him by surprise. Everyone asked eventually. And they had been cooped up for months now. “Yes,” he lied. Believable enough. 

Jesper rolled his window down, and then they pulled back onto the highway. Kaz could see Jesper’s calloused hands. He imagined it was from the ropes, and riding, and working on the farm. Kaz had to admit he didn’t do the farmwork himself - he and Jordie hired people. Mostly black folks. _Not intentionally,_ he told himself. _Lotta black folks in the South._ But there was a sour taste in his mouth.

The land was relentlessly flat, and they both were sweaty as the Texas sun reared its angry head. Kaz had heard stories about Texas and the west, but it was different seeing it in front of him. He shielded his cigarette from the wind and lit it, taking a deep inhale.

“Mind if I bum a smoke?” Jesper asked. Kaz passed it off, careful not to touch his skin. He really should put his gloves on, but the blisters were raw from the previous drive. Kaz looked away as Jesper drew his breath. It always highlighted his high cheekbones. He passed the cigarette back and Kaz was ready to throw it out of the window, but they were getting expensive. Before he knew it they would be ten cents a pack.

In Amarillo Kaz got a room to board in. He ignored the glaring WHITES ONLY sign up top. Jesper was sleeping where the rodeo was, getting the low down on the bulls and his competition. And Kaz was left with his thoughts again, and the emptiness now that Jesper wasn’t next to him. This was the furthest west he’d ever been. 

In the morning he went to the rodeo, all business. Women fanned themselves and men place bets on who would win. Kaz swore when he realized that it was segregated again. He wouldn’t have a chance to talk to Jesper beforehand. In the meantime he looked around for any sign of Van Eck or his agents. The sketches from his contacts had been rough, but one was easily identifiable. _Perfect_. 

Kaz narrowed his eyes, looking around the bleacher seats. Across the way in the colored section he could see Van Eck’s errand boy, Bajan. Up towards the top, in the shaded section with padded seats, he saw Van Eck himself. The barest hint of a smile crossed his lips. 

The man had a receding hairline and his forehead looked burnt. He was dressed in finery despite the heat, a young woman next to him. His wife, by all accounts. But she looked young enough to be his daughter. 

_Jackpot,_ Kaz thought. 

The only event Jesper was participating in that day was calf roping, steer riding and steer wrestling would be the following. _Not the most impressive start but it’ll be a good finish,_ Kaz thought as he took his place. Jesper had relatives in Texas that let him borrow their horses, so they didn’t have to bring one of his around. It saved them a lot of money.

The opening parade happened like it always did. A slew of handsome cowboys and dolled-up cowgirls trotted out, displaying their state flags. Kaz noted that the colored participants were not in the parade. _It’s all nationalist nonsense anyway._ He couldn’t imagine the Dutch doing anything like that.

Kaz used the opening events to walk around the stands and the crowds, lifting wallets from pockets and watches from wrists. It was easy pickings. No one suspected him. A fake smile here, a placid compliment there. He even snatched a hairpin that looked to be made of gold and decorated with pearls. There was power in blending in with the crowd. 

His shoes were covered in dust by the time he sat down for Jesper’s event. Kaz counted his spoils until it was Jesper’s turn. As much as he tried to look down at his beat-up gloved hands, he had to look up. He cut a fine figure on horseback, back straight and arm outstretched. The colored section of the stadium cheered, and polite claps came from around the white section.

Jesper was effortless on the horse, especially considering it wasn’t his own. Kaz knew enough about rodeos to see how much better Jesper was. He finished the timed event roping the calf without breaking a sweat, with effortless finesse. It was absurd. 

Kaz glanced up at Van Eck, who was actually paying attention. _Interesting,_ Kaz thought. Even the segregated crowd couldn’t resist cheering for him. Kaz watched as Van Eck leaned over to the man sitting on his other side, who nodded and whispered back. 

Kaz left to sleep off the rest of the afternoon, and then he waited for Jesper as always, out back by the truck. He wanted to make sure Jesper got a good night’s sleep before the bulldogging. Dangerous on the best of days. But as Kaz rounded to where the corral was, he saw Jesper was chatting up fans again. 

It was later than usual, but Kaz could recognize Jesper’s long and lean frame anywhere. He leaned against the wall, smiling down on someone. Kaz expected to see another smitten girl, but was surprised to see it was a strawberry-blonde man around their age, fresh-faced and wide-eyed. Kaz recognized the look in the stranger’s eyes. Admiration. Awe. _What any decent person would think after that performance, looking at him,_ Kaz thought. Too bad he wasn’t a decent man himself.

Kaz went cold when he saw Jesper reach forward to the man’s fingers. His heart pounded in his chest. He had never suspected Jesper could be a friend of Dorothy. Anger surged through him. _What is he doing getting distracted?_ Especially when they were so close to their goal. His stomach roiled when Jesper leaned forward to whisper into the boy’s ears. It wasn’t disgust, but an emotion he couldn’t put a name to. Jesper could do whatever he wanted, as long as they got the money in the end. As long as they saved the farm.

Even from a distance Kaz could see the white man’s face turning red, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. Kaz still wasn’t ready for when Jesper leaned forward and the two kissed. He averted his eyes, wishing he had a cigarette to focus on instead.

By the time Jesper finally got into the truck, Kaz was seething. "About fucking time you got in."

"You know who that was?" Jesper said with a grin. 

_His lips look swollen,_ Kaz noted. "No."

"Wylan _van Eck._ " 

Kaz straightened up. “That’s Van Eck’s son?” _Jesper kissed Van Eck’s son?_ He could use that to his advantage, but Kaz was agitated. He chalked it up to the new information.

“Rumor has it Van Eck is going to ask me to the Monroe Cowboy Corral,” Jesper said. “I think I might have convinced him to put in a good word for me.”

Kaz shook his head. “You need to be your best tomorrow. Let’s get some food.”

At the restaurant Kaz and Jesper went into their separate entrances, with their separate seating and separate waitstaff. They ate the same meal in what seemed like a world apart. He watched Jesper at his sub-par table that looked seconds away from splintering. But he was smiling his wide smile at the waitress, an older black woman. They laughed and Kaz was resentful Jesper never laughed like that around him. But what was there to laugh about? It was a business transaction.

Kaz thought his food was okay. Nothing tended to taste good to him. After awhile on the road, all the foods tended to blend together. Jesper acted as if the pies were all the best thing he’d ever eaten, all while boasting that his mama’s cooking was better. Kaz didn’t have memories like that.

* * * * * * * *

He wasn’t the praying type, but before Jesper went into the ring for bulldogging, Jesper cleared his throat. “Don’t fuck this up by getting gored,” he said. 

“Gonna take more than that to take out a Fahey,” Jesper said. He adjusted the hat on his head. “It’s nice to be out here. We spent time in Texas after Arkansas.”

 _I know,_ Kaz wanted to say. _I learned everything about you before I ever talked to you._ “Sounds terrible,” he said instead. “I can’t wait to leave this shit town, and this shit south.”

Jesper shrugged and turned away. “It’s bad everywhere, Kaz. You just ain’t see it.”

This time, Kaz strategically sat where he could see Van Eck. The weather was providing some cloud cover, and Kaz was grateful. It meant the audience was in a better mood. Ready to be wowed by Jesper. 

Bulldogging was easily the most dangerous event. Jesper didn’t look like most of the bulldoggers. He wasn’t wide with meaty hands. But those piano-player-looking hands were rough, and Kaz knew under his clothes Jesper had a strong body from working hard his entire life. Harder than most. 

Most entered the ring with a stern bravado. But Jesper was all smiles and working the crowd. Some said it was cocky, the way he would kiss the wrists of ladies leaning over the barriers. Kaz thought he was a showman. The men on steers lead the bull out via chute dogging, as Jesper clapped his hands together. Kaz knew if he were closer, he would see the small cloud of chalk around Jesper like a Texan halo.

As much as he wanted to remain cool, his heart always leapt into his chest when the steer ran past the barrier, breaking the gate down for Jesper to begin running. He let out a wild and uninhibited whoop as he cleared the stadium, catching up with the bull, and the horse running alongside it. 

Even from afar there was a freedom in his movement, a determined jut in his chin. There was no hesitation when Jesper reached for the horn and the snout, clearing the space in record time. With a twist, the 500 pound beast ended up in the dirt and Jesper managed to subdue it. His chest heaved and he tossed his head back, his hat falling down to reveal all the tight coils. Everyone cheered.

Kaz stood up and walked by the Van Ecks, keeping an ear out. “- time to consider it. He’ll make a splendid addition to the Monroe Corral.”

_Success._


	3. To Set Oneself on Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (didn't beta this chapter... apologies)

Wylan dressed in a tan suit and made sure his hair was coiffed just right. It was slightly longer than fashionable, but he tried to rebel against his father in small ways. He was already the failure and moments away from being disinherited. If his new sibling was a boy, he absolutely would be. But for now he could forget that. The colored cowboy they invited was in town - Jesper Fahey.

He’d never seen such arresting gray-blue eyes, and when their lips touched -  _ stop, _ he chided himself. All he’d been doing for weeks was reliving that kiss in the summer heat. He’d never expected to give in to his desires, but now he did. Sweeter than beignets or honey wine. Wylan left his shoes off as he wandered around his room, hoping his father wouldn’t hear him up and about. He’d learned long ago to be a ghost in the presence of Jan van Eck. Wylan hoped when Alys gave birth, his new sibling would be loud enough to draw attention away.

Their Louisiana plantation home was marvelous - all creeping ivy and pristine splendor. Wylan used to love wandering around the grounds with his mother, before she was sent away. Like he might be too. 

Wylan considered the possibility of joining the priesthood just to save his father the embarrassment of an illiterate dandy son before he’d met Jesper Fahey. But Jesper’s lips were a cathedral in and of themselves, and he wanted to kneel and lay down his confessionals at his altar.

There was a polite knock on the door. “Come in,” he called out.

It was Henrietta, a tall black woman who helped in their house. “Master van Eck, your father would like to see you.”

“Thank you Henrietta,” he said with a melancholic sigh. She was more of a parent to him than his father ever was. Now, of course, Jan blamed her and Marya for making him ‘soft’

He put his shoes back on and kept his feet as light as possible as he walked towards his father’s office. A sense of dread came over him - like it always did. His stomach knotted, and he felt like he was eight years old again, completely helpless. Even if he had money in his own right, was successful enough as an accountant. Where words didn’t make sense, money did. And accounting was respectable enough for a wealthy man’s son. Their family hadn’t been as affected by the Great Depression as many - after all, his father owned the largest plantations for sharecropping in Northern Louisiana. And people always needed to eat. What the van Ecks didn’t make in agriculture was earned in timber and banking.

Jan was sitting at his heavy wooden desk, smoke wafting around his face from his cigarette. He knew Wylan hated cigarette smoke. It just reminded Wylan of dead things, and he would always smell it after his mom was crying and applying makeup over the bruises he left. Wylan  _ hated _ his father.

“Time for you to get involved in the side business,” he started. “I want you to take the lead on the integration for the rodeo.”

Wylan tried to hide his surprise. Of course, he enjoyed watching the rodeos. Who wouldn’t? “Are you sure, sir?” he asked. 

“No,” his father said in a clipped voice. “But I don’t want to deal with those negroes. But if we want them to attend, and want their money, we have to look like we approve. So you’ll be the family representative in the colored section.”

Of course. His father only hired black people and paid them the minimum wage. He wouldn’t want to be seen rubbing elbows with anyone he deemed inferior. But Wylan could use this to his advantage. His heart sped up at the possibility. “Yes, sir.”

“I expect that you will not embarrass me or the Van Eck name. If you do, you can expect what inheritance you have to be revoked.”

“Yes, sir.” The safest thing to ever say around his father. He learned that a long time ago. 

“I’ll have Bajan give you the details,” he waved off. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you sir.”

He turned around, his back straight and pulse fast. Bajan was talking to Alys, who was holding her stomach and smiling at him. She took voice lessons from him, much to Wylan’s chagrin. Her intonation was questionable but her lung capacity was astounding. And she was the same age as Wylan. 

Alys was the type of girl Wylan was supposed to marry. From a good Louisiana family, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a peaches and cream complexion. She had a charming disposition, polite voice, and was a true lady. How she ended up with a miserable man like his father, Wylan would never understand. 

“Oh Wylan!” she said and he stiffened. “Please come here.” 

She was so nice, Wylan had to go along, plastering a smile on his own face. “Hello Alys.”

“I was just telling Bajan how much the birds enjoy your flute playing. You’re so talented! I wish they would sing along with me.” She pouted. “Will you play tonight? I would love to hear what you’re working on.”

“Oh I’m just practicing an Anna Amalia sonata.”

She let out a little gasp, her mouth going into a perfect ‘o’. “That sounds lovely! Doesn’t it sound lovely Bajan?”

Bajan nodded. “You have exquisite taste Mrs. Van Eck.”

No one could miss the way that Bajan looked at Alys. He was always trying to look as much like Van Eck as possible - down to the meticulously maintained moustache. But his dark russet brown skin would never allow him to attain the status Van Eck did. But apparently Van Eck didn’t see how close his bride was to his henchman.

“Sure Alys,” Wylan said. “I’ll play for you tonight.”

She let out a squeal and clapped her hands together. “Oh marvelous! I’ll invite my friends. We can have a little salon, maybe I can sing and Celeste can do a poetry reading.” She looked around. “Henrietta! Oh, Henrietta! I need you to set up for a salon tonight.” She bounced away to find the maid and tell her.

Wylan sighed and decided to head out to the porch with a sun tea. He thought about Jesper some more. That broad smile, dark skin, and the feel of his soft coils under his fingertips. It was easy to get lost in the daydream with a cool drink and the hazy summer heat. He could dream about a handsome man and running away to somewhere better. New York or California, where you could live in your own private neighborhood and people didn’t mind. Not like the South. Where antiquated views clutched the back of his neck and shoved his face to drown in holy water.

All he really wanted to do was tell his father to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. But any time the words formed on his lips he choked on them instead. He just hoped someday he wouldn’t be a coward. That he could be who he wanted to be.

* * * * *

Rodeo preparations meant Wylan stayed busy but also far from his dad. They had minimal contact as Wylan worked with the black, native, and Mexican vendors and competitors. They were all nice to him, but their smiles were tight and faces tense. Wylan didn’t understand why - he really wanted to help. To make it wonderful, so everyone would remember how successful the first integrated rodeo was. And that he was a part of it.

And he wanted everything to be perfect for Jesper. He wondered when the cowboy would be rolling into town. He dreamed about him at night in the safety of his room when the sticky air made his skin slick.

He was over-prepared for opening day, when farmers from the region gathered around to show their prized vegetables and animals, and food stalls. The atmosphere was excitable, and Wylan felt a sense of pride burrowing into his heart. Ladies with parasols and their summer dresses walked around with farmers in their tweed, and he even saw whites talking to colored folks.  _ I did that, _ Wylan thought with a smile.

A man limping by him bumped into him. “Sorry, sir,” the man said with a furrowed brow. He tapped his bad leg with a cane. “Bit off balance these days.”

“Of course,” Wylan responded. He looked vaguely familiar but the rodeo world was small. He didn’t pay it any mind and tried to inconspicuously make his way to the corrals. The cowboys looked at him strangely as he navigated around the straw and manure. It burned his nose but he fought to keep his composure. After all, this was his family’s rodeo. He belonged there.

It was impossible to miss him - Jesper Fahey.

He was already tall, Wylan remembered how he’d had to bend over to kiss him, Wylan on tiptoe. But astride the horse, he looked like some young god walking among mortals. Deep skin, stormy eyes - a vision. Wylan wanted to paint him, but there was no way to capture the lines of his face and the dashing silhouette in the dusty air. 

Jesper was patting the neck of his horse and Wylan had to shake his head, just to fall back down to earth. His pulse raced when Jesper turned and looked him straight in the eyes.  _ Lord he’s more handsome in daylight. _

He swung a long leg around the horse and hopped down seamlessly. Everything was graceful. “Hello Mr. Van Eck,” he said in a deep honey voice. Similar but different to his Louisiana accent, Wylan found it alluring still.

“Mr. Fahey,” he replied. 

"Van Eck," he said. The name dripped from those full lips.

"I wanted to wish you good luck in the competition," Wylan managed to croak out. He worried about what the other cowboys would say. About favoritism. Or worse, about his proclivities. 

But Wylan's thoughts came to a halt when Jesper reached forward to the handkerchief in Wylan's front pocket and held it in front of his lips. "Kiss it."

Wylan couldn't tear his eyes away from Jesper's as he did, his heart beating erratically. "For good luck," Jesper said quietly. His voice was husky, as he tucked it into his back pocket. 

When he finally walked away, only thoughts of Jesper consumed him. The cowboy had burrowed himself in his mind, and he walked around in a haze. He thought of his first kiss. Nervous and 20 years old in university, he was also a son of a wealthy plantation family. He was married now with a child on the way. But that kiss had been messy, shameful, and rushed. Nothing like the caress with Jesper, the tight fist in his hair and warm evening making his skin damp behind that stable in Texas.

The rodeo went off without a hitch. But all Wylan cared about were Jesper's events. The way he was able to wrestle the bull to the ground. All Wylan could think about was the rough hands on his soft ones. No one could beat Jesper's times - a white cowboy on the sideline threw his hat down and stomped away as the dark, lanky man took his first place buckle.

Wylan checked his pockets for the cash he brought him to get Jesper a celebratory bouquet at a stall, but found his pocket empty. "Biscuits," he swore. But he was a Van Eck, and the florist gave it to him free of charge. "I'll have payment sent to your shop," he promised. 

He wasn't surprised to see Jesper surrounded by admirers. Behind him, Wylan saw the crippled man from earlier. He leaned heavily on his cane, watching the people around Jesper. Beautiful women asked for his autograph and one had left a cherry red lip print on his cheek.

Anxious by all the people, Wylan wrote a note and stuck it in the flowers. 

_ Come by the house tomorrow at noon. I would like to personally congratulate you. _

_ Wy _

His father would be at a business meeting with Bajan in tow. And most of the servants were still fond of Marya Hendriks and Wylan - they kept his secrets. As he left the flowers, he saw the crippled man staring right at him. There was a burning look in his eyes Wylan couldn’t figure out. But it certainly wasn’t friendly. In fact, it looked like hatred. Wylan was familiar with disgust and derision - the two moods his father were always in when it came to him. But this made no sense. Had Wylan bumped that hard into him?

He turned his back and walked around the fairgrounds, anxious to release the tension and longing from his body. He visited other vendors, congratulating them and sampling their wares, his feet sore by the end of the day. As Henrietta drew his bath, he tipped his head back and wondered if Jesper would take up his offer.

At half past twelve the next day, Wylan had his answer when Henrietta went to the music room to get his attention. Wylan had been practicing his flute to distract himself, Alys’s birds chirping along in the other room.

“Mister Wylan? You have a visitor,” she said in a pleasant voice.

His heart leapt into his throat and he had to stop himself from running to the visiting salon. Jesper was waiting for him there, one long leg crossed at the ankle, in a pair of fitted slacks with suspenders, the white of his shirt making his dark sun-kissed skin glow. Wylan felt under dressed in his day suit. He couldn’t help the surge of jealousy as one of the maids, a young tawny-skinned black woman named Hazel, laughed at one of Jesper’s jokes. 

“Aw well you’re just prettier than a summer day,” Jesper said, kissing her hand. She blushed and excused herself, running out of the room.

“I thought you liked boys,” Wylan said, when he was sure they were alone. He sat on the couch adjacent to Jesper. 

“I do,” Jesper replied, putting his hands behind his head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like girls.” 

He had never heard of that before, but Wylan didn’t want to seem ignorant. He couldn’t imagine looking at a woman - or anyone - the way he looked at Jesper. The desire and desperation that dug claws into his skin, that wrapped around his throat and whispered salacious thoughts in his ear. 

“That’s a nice house you got here,” Jesper commented. “You want to take me on a tour?”

Wylan smiled. “I think so.”

Wylan put on a fairly good pretense - he showed him the music room, the library, and the greenhouse, but when they walked among the willow trees outside, he couldn’t contain it. The sun through the branches gave Jesper freckles of sunlight. He grabbed the other man’s hand.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. He held Jesper’s hand up to his lips and kissed each one, each paper-light brush like a rosary prayer. Jesper didn’t say much. Instead he took a step forward and cupped Wylan’s face. Wylan leaned up on his tip toes and he felt the dizzying rush of their lips melting together. 

He traced his tongue on Jesper’s full lip, even better than the first time, especially with Jesper’s hands pulling his tie loose. They were just wearing  _ too many clothes _ , when Jesper hitched his hands behind Wylan’s legs and lifted him against the mausoleum wall. The cool stone surface was rough against his back but all he could focus on was the heat from Jesper in front of him, and the weight of his body leaning forward. 

_ What would the family think of me now? _ he thought with a chuckle, as a man held him up against their gravesite.

“What’s so funny?” Jesper murmured. 

“Nothing,” Wylan said, his train of thought lost when Jesper’s lips moved to his chin and then his neck. “Not here. Let’s go to my suite.”

It didn’t take long for their clothes to be discarded on Wylan’s floor and for him to forget everything. His father, the general malaise of the dying South, and whatever insecurities he had. Not when he felt so good and the way Jesper’s throat bobbed when his head was tilted back in pleasure. It was Wylan’s holy work.

When the air cooled down and the evening was lazy, Wylan untangled himself from Jesper. He went to the washroom to clean up when there was another knock on his door. He hastily went out and opened the door a crack. It was Henrietta and he breathed a sigh of relief. “This is a bad time Henrietta -”

“There is a man here to see you. He wouldn’t give his name.” She looked shaken. 

“A man?”

“I was cleaning up sir, and he was just there. Didn’t come to the door. He had a gun.” Now there were tremors.

He hastily dressed and went to the salon, where he saw the man with the cane from before. The one who had been glaring at him. He had black gloves on despite the temperature, and his hair was slicked back. He had dark brown eyes and nearly-black hair. His lips were tight and unsmiling. “Wylan van Eck.”

“Who are you?”

“Kaz Brekker. You and I are going to be very well-acquainted with each other.”

Wylan’s eyes widened. “I’m certain I have no idea what you’re on about Mr. Brekker.”

“Call me Kaz,” he said. His voice had a hard edge. “You’re going to help me rob your father.”

Now Wylan laughed. “You’re uppity I’ll sure give you that.”

“You didn’t let me finish. I also happen to be one Jesper Fahey’s manager. I’m sure your little community of Monroe won’t take too kindly to the fact that not only do you lay with men, but you’ve got a negro cowboy up in your bed right now.”

Wylan froze.


	4. Bitter Roots Grow Poison Vines

Kaz thought it had been bad enough with Jesper next to him on the car rides. He hadn’t anticipated Jesper sitting in the bed of the truck, leaving him with Wylan up front. The young dandy seemed to take the miffed-and-insufferable route to complaining, as if Kaz hadn’t caught him with drawers down. With Jesper.

He ground his teeth together harder as he heard another heaving sigh. Kaz knew that they needed him, sure. But he was also annoying and rubbed Kaz’s nerves raw.  _ What does Jesper even see in the lily-livered man? _ Kaz thought, sneaking a look at Wylan. Did Jesper see careless loose curls, and an easy life? Easy was something Kaz didn’t understand in the least. Everything to him was callous and difficult. Of course Jesper would also see that. 

“Can you shut up?” He finally asked after the tenth heavy sigh emanating from the man.

“I don’t know why you’re fixing to find a problem with me,” Wylan muttered. “You’re the cretin that blackmailed me and is making me rob my father.”

“Don’t act like you don’t hate your father,” Kaz snapped back. He had seen the way he straightened up and looked anxious whenever the elder Van Eck was around. That was what Kaz could use. The small bit of ugliness in Wylan that Kaz could reach into and twist. That Kaz could use to control him. It was satisfying. Controlling Jesper wasn’t satisfying - it was the inherent imbalance of their skin color, not something Kaz could suss out himself. 

But Jesper still seemed to have the upper hand on his emotions. Anger built up inside him again. But they would soon be in Baton Rouge, the flagship Van Eck bank. 

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t stop in N’Awlins for the night,” Jesper shouted from the back. “Have a little fun before risking my life?”

“The faster we get this over with, the sooner I don’t have to see either of you again,” Kaz bit back.

“Suit yourself,” Jesper said, tucking his cowboy hat down to protect himself from the sun. Jesper had turned into a handsome shade of deep brown, and Kaz was fascinated by the multiple shades that danced across his features from the tan. Unlike himself, turning red and blistered if he was exposed too long. But he wasn’t as pale as the freckle-faced Wylan, who looked like a cherub next to him. No scars, no blemishes. Soft.

“Who are we meeting in Baton Rouge?”

“A contact from San Francisco,” Kaz said. “Kuwei Yul-Bo.”

“Must be worth a pretty penny if you’re bringing him from California,” Wylan drawled. 

_ Does he ever shut up?  _ Kaz wondered. “About as much as you,” he retorted. He reached forward and turned up the music to drown out whatever other words Wylan was holding onto. 

Unfortunately, segregation laws meant that Kaz was sharing a room with Wylan, while Jesper went to the Negro side of town. He watched as Jesper walked into the colored hotel, smiling and talking up the man at reception. He was a tawny-skinned black man and gave Jesper a shy smile.  _ Can he just keep it in his fucking pants? _ Kaz wondered. Jesper had to be doing it to aggravate him. The man had no focus. It didn’t help that everyone seemed to be taken by Jesper Fahey’s beauty. The gray eyes, the high cheekbones, the debonair attitude when he flirted with anyone who looked his way.

Wylan moped as he looked out the window and they went to their own nondescript hotel. “Sorry it’s not comparable to your own home,” Kaz said sarcastically. “But we won’t be here long.”

To his credit, Wylan didn’t complain about the cozy room or stiff beds. Kaz elevated his stiff leg, which screamed at him in pain. He drew his breath in, filling up his lungs to capacity, and released it slowly, trying to dull the ache that burrowed its way into his bones. As he lay down, he recited the plan over and over in his head, a mantra. That would free him and Jordie. They could move back to New York if they wanted to, with Pekka destroyed in their wake. He vaguely wondered what Jesper would do as he drifted off to sleep.

Kaz woke up sore and stretched out his leg. Wylan was still sleeping so he made a point to noisily walk around the room, letting his cane bang into things until Wylan groaned and woke up. They got ready and picked up Jesper, who was standing outside the hotel already, dressed sharply in a crisp white shirt and brown trousers held up by suspenders. His coat was casually tossed over his shoulders and he squinted as he saw Kaz’s truck pull up.

He hopped into the bed of the truck with a languid grace that put ballet dancers to shame and slapped the side. Kaz drove off to take them to a small space he rented near the bank for them to work in. Soon enough they would be done. Kuwei was meeting them soon - the Chinese man would be in town soon and head straight there.

Kaz immediately got to work, unfolding the blueprint of the bank he had bribed a man at city hall into giving him. Besides it he put a map of the city.

“Van Eck’s bank is one of the only ones that hasn’t fallen to the crisis,” Kaz commented. Thousands of banks had gone under since the stock market crashed. But when the wealthy kept their money in one bank owned by their fellow wealthy man, it meant Van Eck was doing well. Very well. It also meant it was easy pickings. “The key is an actual key. The combinations to the safe and the guards are not my concern. Between Jesper’s marksmanship and my planning, that will be fine. But we need to get the key from the general manager - which is where you come in.” He looked at Wylan.

“You know Van Eck better than anyone - you’ve been on the receiving end of his ire. You have to channel that to the manager so that he won’t call your father for verification.”

Wylan was wide-eyed but nodded, finally silent for once. Kaz glanced over at Jesper, who was looking down at the blueprints. “How many guards?” He asked, in that deep drawl.

“At least five at all times. One by the front entrance, one by the employee entrance, one that makes rounds, and two by the main safe.”

“Four against five won’t be so bad,” he said with a shrug. 

Kaz looked at Wylan. “More like three against five.”

“Where does Kuwei come in?” Jesper asked.

“Kuwei will be setting off explosives around town to distract law enforcement. Wylan, I will need you to help him. With two people setting off two explosives, it’ll cause more chaos.”

They all nodded. It sounded simple enough but it relied on Wylan’s ability to get the key, and the distraction. As if summoned by his name, there was a knock on the door. Kuwei was only slightly taller than Wylan, with pitch-black hair and honey brown eyes. Jesper raised an eyebrow appreciatively and Kaz felt a stab of jealousy in his gut. 

“Kuwei,” he introduced himself, shaking their hands.

Kaz stepped up. “I met Kuwei on another job. There’s no other demolitions expert like him.”

“I learned from my grandfather, who helped build the railroads,” he said casually.

“Rough business,” Jesper commented. They exchanged a look between them Kaz couldn’t begin to understand. So he ignored it. 

“I was just filling them in on the explosives - do you know where you want to put them?”

Kuwei nodded, and walked to the map of Baton Rouge. He pointed at the second largest bank, city hall, the University, and the main road. “These will all have an effect on people, while also minimizing any death if we do it right.”

They discussed the details of where everything would be going, where the explosives could be timed to minimize loss of human life. Hopefully to zero, but Kaz couldn’t say he would really be bothered. It would be happening in the white part of town. The police wouldn’t be bothered if it was the colored part of town, they all knew it. 

He tried not to think, but the memories came flooding back. Of being two immigrant kids in New York, who’s parents were killed by the Spanish Flu. It had wiped out their family, and nearly killed Jordie too. They had lived on the street, urchins, People hadn’t even bothered to look twice at them. Wealthy, white people. The ones who actually helped them had been colored people. A church that took them in. Kaz sometimes wondered how they were, if the building was still there. But the man who ran the factory in New York City and knowingly made his parents come into work was none other than Pekka. The reason his family was taken away was a selfish businessman. So when Pekka decided to take his son down to Alabama to live a country life, Kaz and Jordie followed.

He wiped memories from his mind to focus on the task at hand. They had homemade masks to cover themselves and hide their identities. He also had gotten gloves to make sure they couldn’t be identified by race, and identical outfits. 

Jesper dropped a bag of guns on the table and began to take them out, examining them and taking a cloth to clean them. Kaz had to tear his eyes away from the sight of the long brown fingers moving up and down, nimble and capable. He bit at the inside of his cheek until his mouth flooded with blood.

Jesper and Kuwei were talking about California as he worked. Jesper seemed intrigued by San Francisco and life out there. Kuwei was more than happy to talk, animated, about the steep hills and diverse city. 

“You know I’ve never been to the ocean?” Jesper said. “All my life I’ve spent in the South. Seen some pretty lakes but,” he shook his head. “Ain’t never seen the ocean.”

_ I could tell you all about the ocean,  _ Kaz thought.  _ I could take you across it. _

* * * * *

Wylan fidgeted nervously with his pocket watch as the General Manager walked inside the restaurant where they were meeting. He thought of the ways his father acted. Haughty. Arrogant. Holier-than-thou. He needed to become his father in all ways, if he was going to pull it off. Kaz was counting on him. 

_ Kaz probably thinks I’m going to fail, _ he thought miserably. Wylan knew he didn’t inspire any strong faith in the thieves and cowboys he was now running with. But he still found himself wanting to prove that he could. He could hold his own against anyone and do anything. So he pushed an errant curl back and school his face into a look of Van Eck supremacy.

“Mister Van Eck!” the bank manager said with a smile. “So glad you could meet me here. How is your father doing?”

Wylan shook his hand, giving it the tight squeeze that Jesper had encouraged him to use. During those moments of contact, he was acutely aware of the roughness of his palms that had traced over his mouth, his chest, his body just a few nights before. He fought the redness creeping on his cheeks and cleared his throat. “He’s well, thank you. Busy, but well.”

“Ah yes, Jan always has his fingers in a lot of pies,” he chuckled. “I’m glad to see you taking more interest in the bank Mister Van Eck. As you know our investments have been holding up well despite the depression. You’ll make sure to tell your father yes?”

“Of course,” Wylan said. “However I would like a first hand look at the bank. Could you take me on a tour?”

“Definitely, as soon as we finish our lunch,” the manager said with a kind smile. Wylan almost felt bad that this man was definitely going to lose his job, but then he remembered the bank was whites only. He would be fine.

The bank was boring, Wylan had to admit. Every so often he got glimpses of the thin chain under the manager’s neck that held the key to the Van Eck savings. To being out from under his father’s heel and living the life he deserved and wanted. He would go up north. Life didn’t begin and end below the Mason-Dixon line.

He finally saw an opening when the man pulled the key out. “May I see that?” He asked. “I’ve always wanted to hold something with so much power,” he said. He gave the man his best smile. Guileless. The manager nodded and handed him the key. 

At this moment, Kaz came walking back and knocked into him again. It felt like a familiar friend to Wylan, as the key went fumbling down to the ground. Kaz picked it up and with an indiscernible sleight of hand, switched it. Wylan was barely able to see it himself. He had to admit the man was impressive - after all he had pickpocketed him at the rodeo too.

“For you sir,” Kaz said holding out the fake key with an almost pleasant smile on his face. 

“Thank you,” Wylan responded. “How clumsy of me.”

“Mister Van Eck!” the manager replied. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, and felt a sense of pride as he finished out the tour. He could bring his father down. And would be helping Jesper in the process. 

Back in the room, he saw Kuwei finishing up the bombs and Jesper sleeping on the bed, sprawled out. Everything about him took up space with those long limbs, including in his mind. As he woke up from a drowsy sleep he smiled at Wylan. “Hey there princeling,” he said and sent Wylan’s heart fluttering. He was wearing far too many clothes but he supposed that could wait. He didn’t know what to make of Kuwei - he was mostly silent, only looking up to rub his eyes or ask questions.

“Do you do this much?” Wylan asked politely.

Kuwei shrugged. 

Well there was that. Kaz limped in shortly after. “Alright. We’ll get the bombs planted soon and then time everything. We need to act at the end of the shift, when the guards are at their most relaxed and tired.” Kaz went over the plan again. It all made enough sense. Jesper sat up, putting the mask on his face. It was a wretched homemade thing of a large bunny with soulless eyes. Tall and intimidating with his revolvers, Wylan wondered how he was still attracted to Jesper.

When they left, Kuwei handed Wylan the bombs. “You have to place them. No one will care what a random rich white man is doing,” he said. “I can help set them off but you have to put them all down.”

* * * * *

Jesper could hear the bombs as they went off throughout Baton Rouge. Soon after, he could hear the alarms. Two explosions, then two more. He was hiding with Kaz around the corner from the bank, as the guards became distracted. It was 11 at night - the financial district was quiet but it was Louisiana, people were always out and about. The guards looked to where the fires had begun burning, and he aimed, the silencer tight on his gun.

Kaz nodded and Jesper emerged from the shadows. They were a frightening sight he knew, their long coats billowing, disguising their skin colors and builds. The bunny masks were straight out of Halloween, the large eyes covered with sheer lady’s hose to hide their faces. His aim was perfect as he took out the first guard. The muted gunshot brought the attention of the other guard and before he could reach his gun, there was a bullet in his skull.

“Good aim,” Kaz said with his gruff voice. Jesper took the moment to make sure his bullets were handy.

“I know,” Jesper responded. “Two down.”

Jesper kept watch as Kaz searched the bodies for the front key and then they entered the bank, where they saw one more man in the middle of his rounds. He looked confused and reached for his gun, but Jesper was quicker. The bullet burrowed itself in his forehead and the man fell, blood pooling around him.

They went to the large safe, and Jesper took out the guard again. They didn’t even have the chance to raise an alarm.  _ It’s almost going too smoothly, _ Jesper worried, searching the main hall while Kaz walked to the safe, listening for the combination, and the secondary key in hand. All they had to do was get in and out without the authorities being alerted, then they were home free. Then he could go back to Alabama, he and his parents could have a better life. Money didn’t fix everything wrong with the world but it certainly made things better.

Kaz hissed as the safe failed to open, and went back to work. “Too bad we can’t shoot at it,” Jesper joked. 

“Shut up,” Kaz said, and anger simmered in his chest.  _ Of course. Still a white man at the end of the day, _ he thought. In his whites only hotel room and his ability to walk through the front doors of businesses. Kaz was still a man who wouldn’t shake his hand, and could barely look at him some days.

He hardened his resolve.

After a painful few minutes, the safe gave a loud clang and they were able to open it. Jesper kissed his revolver in celebration and waited as Kaz then opened the second metal gate that separated them from the money. 

Jesper had never seen so much money in his life. Stacks and stacks of money. He ran his finger over the crisp paper before taking the bag off his back and loading it up with as much cash as he could fit, and snagging some jewelry in safe deposit boxes. Likely it was gifts Van Eck gave to Alys or his ex wife Marya. It would look prettier on the neck of his mother Aditi. Gold was meant for queens, not damsels. 

The bag was heavy on his back, and Kaz’s loaded as well. He looked up to the entrance just to see another security guard, a gun pointed at them. “Hands up!” he shouted. “Put the gun down!”

“Which one?” Jesper asked. “Hands up or gun down?”

“Shut up!” the man yelled.

“I am getting damn tired of white men telling me to shut up,” Jesper said. He feinted to the left then dodged to the right, rushing the man as Kaz tossed a stack of cash on his face. In the surprise, the guard dropped his own weapon. Jesper placed the gun under his chin and shot, a spray of blood hitting the ceiling. 

“You ever stop talking?” Kaz said, as Jesper wiped blood off on the guard’s shirt. 

“I will when I’m dead,” he said. “Some of us got stuff to say.”

They made their way out to the getaway car, being driven by Kuwei. Wylan was in the backseat and Jesper joined him there, Kaz in the front next to Kuwei. They sped away, and once a safe distance from the bank, took the masks off. 

“How did it go?” Kuwei asked. 

“Flawless,” Kaz said. Jesper was surprised there was almost a note of pride in his voice. 

Jesper heard the sirens before he saw them. “Masks on!” He yelled. They all scrambled to cover their faces just as they ran into a police blockade. “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” Jesper said, making sure his automatic rifle was ready to go. His revolvers were his favorite but they couldn’t do the damage he needed. 

“Stop,” Kaz said. 

“No,” Jesper snapped. “Keep driving.”

Kuwei looked between Kaz and Jesper, and then slammed his foot down on the pedal.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Kaz yelled as Jesper leaned out the window. 

“I’m not going to fucking jail,” he responded, bracing the gun against his shoulder. The rapid fire kickback wrenched at his shoulder but he unleashed the bullets on the cops gathered around. He had an uncanny ability to send a bullet exactly where he wanted to. Whether it was a tin can fifty feet away on a fence, or a cop’s face as Kuwei rushed towards them. Bullets whizzed near him and he ducked, too close for comfort.

Kaz also reached out the window and shot with his pistol, swearing. As they raced to the barricade, Jesper went back in, ducking. “Hold on!” he shouted, and the car collided with the wooden barriers. Jesper smacked against the seat in front of him and reached for Wylan, who was screaming. As they drove away Jesper leaned back out to shoot. A police officer fired and pain exploded in his shoulder. 

Gasping, Jesper lost his balance. He hit the ground with a thud. He saw Kaz look back at him, guilt on his face before he said, “Keep driving!”

Jesper lay on the ground bleeding, the car disappearing before his eyes.


	5. "oh, but my sins must have been holy, for the way I worshipped him"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "oh, but my sins must have been holy,  
> for the way I worshiped him."
> 
> \- forgive me father, for I have loved

Kuwei counted the money as Wylan and Kaz argued. And argued. And argued. It was an excellent haul. Two million dollars was now theirs. The newspaper from the day before was in front of him. Jesper had somehow managed to escape custody, and Wylan said they needed to look for him because it was the right thing to do. Kaz said there was no guarantee Jesper hadn’t turned them in.

Kuwei found the whole thing pointless. Two million dollars. Split four ways, that was impressive. A quarter to Jesper’s family, and a quarter to the three of them. Maybe Jesper would find his way back to Alabama, if he wasn’t bleeding out in a ditch somewhere. His heart hurt for Jesper, for sure. But he didn’t know the man. 

It was understandable why the man had managed to upheave the lives of both Kaz and Wylan. He had the kind of beauty sculptors would capture, if they got over the skin color difference. It was effortless, and he radiated light from the inside. 

Kuwei split the money into four even stacks, unsure what to do with the jewelry. Wylan and Kaz were still arguing. 

“You left him!” the dandy yelled.

“We all would have been captured if we turned around!” Kaz said. 

It was true. Kuwei felt guilty still. And Kaz tended to be insufferable on the best of days. He sighed when the arguing reached a peak. “I’m going on a walk,” he said. “Try not to kill each other.”

He walked around Baton Rouge to survey the damage. Kuwei knew that his light skin, for a Chinese man, afforded him some benefits. If he kept his hat low, many of the white folks saw a man with a tan, and he could walk around unbothered. But when they saw his hair, his eyes, his features - that was when the vitriol started. He kept his distance from people nonetheless.

Kuwei wondered where Jesper could possibly be. How did a bleeding man escape certain Death By Police? They were trigger happy in these parts. But that wasn’t his job. He simply made sure they were all covering their tracks, so he could return back to California. And be away from these bickering men, to go back to his relatively uncomplicated life. 

When he came back to their makeshift office, Wylan was in there alone. His eyes were shining bright and his face splotchy red from anger and crying. “Oh. Hello.” 

“Hi,” he said. 

Kuwei really wasn’t interested in starting a conversation. But it seemed that Wylan had different ideas. “This is wrong,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was so soft, so light. “We shouldn’t have left him behind.”

Kuwei stayed silent, trying to busy himself by looking in his bag. There was a lighter, some money, and odds and ends. Certainly not enough to keep him occupied through whatever he was going through. 

“It was wrong. Why would Kaz do that?”

He looked expectantly at Kuwei, who wasn’t sure what to say. He understood why Kaz ordered them to drive off. The likelihood they would have been caught and killed was high. But it did rub Kuwei the wrong way that Kaz was so willing to sacrifice a black man to achieve his goals. The sooner he was rid of him, the better. But he wasn’t about to be roped into a conversation of the ethics of abandoning your crew to the police.

“I wanted a life with that man,” Wylan sighed. “He’s beautiful.” Kuwei nodded to himself. That was undeniable. Was there anything else remarkable about Jesper to Wylan? “You ever been to New York, Kuwei?” Kuwei shook his head. He was born and raised in California. “What’s China like? The Orient seems amazing,” he sighed.

Kuwei’s eye twitched and he just shrugged again. China was as foreign to him as New York was. 

“You don’t like talking much do you?”

“I don’t like saying unimportant things,” Kuwei finally replied. Wylan seemed to take the hint and quieted down. It was then that Kuwei finally noticed a hole in the wall. Wylan’s hands were still pristine musician hands, so Kuwei figured the argument became heated enough for Kaz to take it out on the wall. 

Kuwei was finally able to relax when Wylan left, and Kaz returned for his share of the money and went back to his own room. Kuwei lay down in bed and closed his eyes.

He woke up suddenly at night when he heard a  _ click _ by his ear.

Kuwei’s mouth became slack-jawed as he saw the gun pointed between his eyes. And holding it, a very alive, very angry Jesper Fahey.

“Give me a good reason not to shoot you,” he said.

Kuwei thought about it. “I don’t have one.”

Jesper relaxed slightly but the gun was still right on his forehead. “You left me to die on that street.”

“I know.”

Jesper seemed to consider this, before finally lowering his gun. “You’re going to help me fix this, Yul-Bo.”

Now this was interesting.

* * * * *

Kaz was going to drink himself to death if he didn’t slow down, but he couldn’t stop. Because all that ran through his head was the image of Jesper prone on the street, the surprise and anger in his eyes. The dark blood pooling around. He was some sort of fallen angel, left to rot amongst the scum of the earth. 

He tossed back another shot of whisky, needing the numbness to settle in. To make Jesper’s features less clear. Maybe enough alcohol would dull the high cheekbones and carefully sculpted jawline, and the dreamy gray eyes. They looked like a stormy day, or a crystal clear pond in the woods, depending on the hour. 

Kaz bent over and let out a scream before throwing the bottle at his hotel wall. This shouldn’t be hurting him so much. He  _ made _ the decision to do this. Yet here he was, wishing he could turn back time, and get the hateful look out of Jesper’s eyes. The look he deserved. Kaz thought it had been impossible for anyone to loathe him more than himself. But now he was proven wrong.

His leg was killing him. Maybe the guilt compounded things. Kaz Rietveld didn’t like guilt. He rarely felt it. Mostly there was bitterness and ugliness beneath the surface, and ‘doing the right thing’ meant very little when life handed him blow after blow. But then Jesper Fahey landed on his lap, and he  _ left him bleeding on the street. _

Kaz fell into a miserable sleep where the darkness writhed and moved, where it threatened to drown him in heavy sludge until he woke up gasping for air. Did he finally cross a line he couldn’t come back from?

There were dark circles under his eyes but he managed to get his leg moving enough to get back to the car. Wylan was standing by it, his blue eyes red and his lips puffy from crying. Kaz hated the sight of it. 

“Let’s go grab Kuwei,” he said. “Then we can get the fuck out of this town.”

Kuwei was waiting for them outside the front office, briefcase in hand and looking as put together as Kaz wanted to be. His face was passive, and he stood up as soon as he saw the truck. 

“You take care of the getaway car?” Kaz asked. 

Kuwei nodded. “It’s sitting at the bottom of the swamp.”

He wondered what would happen to Jesper. Was he rotting away in a prison cell? He had no way of knowing. The best thing he could do was go back to Alabama and hand off the money to his parents with his apologies. Jesper was their only child but they could live a good life out there, quietly. Jordie and Kaz could help with the crops as needed.

_ Look at you, trying to help someone, _ Kaz thought with disgust. It was a nice sentiment but he knew the truth. He would drop the money on the porch with a note and hightail it to New York with Jordie and get on the first freighter back to Holland. Jesper would just be another nightmare in a sea of nightmares that rotated through his head. 

The pain in his leg became his atonement as he began the drive from Baton Rouge back to Monroe. They came up with a clever story, trying to distract himself from the grating sound of Wylan’s voice. Of his own entire existence. 

It was a punishing drive back to the sleepy northern Louisiana city, and his leg was screaming when he tried to get out of the truck. He said goodbye to Wylan and found a hotel a city over that was so shitty it didn’t care if he shared a room with a Chinese man. Kuwei was blessedly quiet. All the time. 

_ You don’t always hate when people talk _ , the thought sneaked in. He thought again about Jesper’s easy smile and effortless conversation. How he even dragged begrudging chuckles out of Kaz. The sheer showmanship of when he rode horses, lean but strong thighs holding him to any horse or bull in his way. Thighs that could wrap around anything. 

_ Don’t go down that road Rietveld, _ he told himself. There weren’t happy endings for men like him. All he wanted to do was leave this country. The American Dream was dead in the water, but at least he had money to ride out the depression and the rest of his life. He fell asleep thinking of the feel of Jesper’s lasso around his chest, about all the maybe-touches.

In the morning Kuwei was already awake and reading a newspaper, a cup of coffee steaming on the table.

“Any good?” Kaz grunted, sharp pain shooting from his big toe to his ass. 

“Tastes like piss,” Kuwei responded.

Kaz let out a dry chuckle as he got dressed and limped out to the lobby to get some. Kuwei was right. It did taste like burnt piss, but he downed it anyway in the hopes to get the bitter taste of regret out of his mouth. After he finished shaving and getting ready he tossed a bag into the truck bed and waited for Kuwei. He itched to get back on the road, to get back to Alabama, to begin the rest of his life and leave all this behind him.

They made a relentless push to Alabama, only slowing down when they passed through small towns or saw cops in the distance. When his bodily functions forced him to stop he skimmed the newspapers. Their robbery made headlines but there was nothing about Jesper. Not a whisper. He avoided reading the obituaries in-depth, just glancing for his name. Or for a John Doe.

_ Jesper Llewellyn Fahey,  _ Kaz recited to himself. It rolled off the tongue effortlessly. It wasn’t blunt edges like Kaz Rietveld. Everything about Kaz had been hardened and sharp but now he felt brittle. 

When he made it to Alabama, Kuwei hopped on the train back to California. There was no goodbye. They had each done his part, and Kuwei knew his deepest shame. Kaz was not sad to see him go. 

He parked and sat in the truck, leaning his face against the steering wheel. Then he took a deep breath and exhaled. He took another deep breath and then let out an unholy, piercing scream that tore at his throat, guttural and inhuman. He slammed his fist into the steering wheel and in a moment of self-loathing reared his head back and smashed it against the wheel, pain exploding behind his eyes. Kaz breathed raggedly, tearing off his glove and feeling the blood that was now pooling on his brow.  _ Good, _ he told himself. 

After several long moments of staying still he got out of the truck, walking to the porch and front door. He knocked three times and waited until Jordie answered it.

“Kaz,” he said. He had a placid expression on his face.

“Jordie -” he stopped, searching his brother’s face. “Jordie what’s wrong.”

Jordie frowned and pushed the door the rest of the way open.

Like an archangel, Jesper stood in front of him with a gun held to his brother’s temple.

* * * * *

Jesper was satisfied at the confusion, relief, and horror in Kaz’s face. He took the safety off his revolver. “Hi Kaz,” he said. “I think we need to have a talk,” Jesper continued. “Please come in.” He almost felt bad for dragging Jordie into this. The man was attractive, maybe five years older than Kaz, and was clearly the one that did manual labor around the farm. It would be a shame to blow his brains out. 

He kept his aim true as they walked over to the living room. 

“Point the gun at me,” Kaz said with venom in his voice. “Jordie has nothing to do with this.”

“See that’s where you’re wrong Rietveld,” Jesper said softly. “You don’t care about your own life. I know that much. But your brother here, that’s a different story.” He didn’t have anything against Jordie. The several hours they’d spent before Kaz arrived had been amicable, until Jordie realized that Jesper was going to be using him as collateral. In another life he would have liked to get to know Jordie. 

In that life, Kaz didn’t leave him to fucking die on the street in Baton Rouge. 

His shoulder hurt like a bitch. Collapsed in an alleyway digging it out with his fingers and a pair of tweezers he found, he found a black tailor that took him into a backroom and stitched him up, as he bit down on a cloth to suppress his screams. He focused on his anger and injustice rather than the pain that radiated through every part of his torso. None of this would have happened if the KKK hadn’t shown up to destroy his family’s life in Little Rock. If Pekka had left well enough alone. If everything wasn’t so terrible. 

From there he found a driver headed to Florida and paid him to break several laws and get him to Alabama. The thing about the black community - they looked out for his own. He should have known better than to trust someone like Rietveld, who’d shown his true colors the moment he signs up for the heist. Nothing about Kaz was that different than the men in Little Rock. And that was the god’s honest truth.

“Let’s talk, Kaz,” Jesper said again. “Sit your ass down.”

Kaz sat down, and Jesper was glad to see there were conflicting emotions on his face. Good. He should suffer. 

“Jesper I -”

Jesper pushed the gun into Jordie’s temple, the older man wincing. “I didn’t say you get to talk yet. I just said let’s talk. I’m going to be doing the talking.” He released pressure on Jordie, who was now visibly shaken and pale. “You asked me for my help. You would not have achieved your goal without me. You used me for what you needed, and then left me to die, or worse, to the justice system of white men in Baton Rouge.”

“You fell, what were we supposed to do?” Kaz said. There was a raw edge to his voice.

“Shoot some fucking cops and pull me back in,” Jesper snapped back. The ugliness inside him reared its head. Nothing was fair. Everything was difficult for people like him. Whether it was his skin color or who he chose to love, or the circumstances of his birth and parentage. Maybe this white man in front of him had a hard life - but not for the same reasons as him. Jesper struck out before he walked out onto the baseball field.

Kaz was silent. “I regret it, for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth jack shit.”

“What do you want, Jesper? I can’t make it up to you.”

“I want to blow your brains out,” he said honestly. “But I fail to see how that would help anything.”

Kaz inhaled slowly. Jesper wondered where he got that ugly looking cut on his forehead - it looked fresh. “You want to kill someone? Fine. Kill Pekka. It’s what he deserves.”

“I fail to see how he deserves it any more or less than you.” Kaz was silent after that but Jesper finally put his gun in his holster. “If you make any wrong moves Rietveld I’m putting you and your brother in the ground and erasing your name from history,” he threatened. 

* * * * *

Kaz was violently shaken to his core. The whole world had slipped out from under him. He had to bite into his cheek again just to stay grounded. He was relieved of course, that Jesper was alive. Even with the anger in his eyes. Even with the suspicion, and the threats spewing from his mouth like venom. What Kaz would give for a taste of the poison.

They discussed their plan and then finally Jesper left to go back home. As he saw the other man’s back, he felt his chest being tugged along to follow. To say something, anything, that might get rid of look in those gray eyes.

“Go,” Jordie said with a nod. 

“What do you mean?” Kaz asked him. 

“Just go, Kaz,” Jordie sighed.

So he did. Jesper had a good few inches on Kaz with long legs, so he had to hobble along, shouting after him. “Jes, wait,” he said.

Jesper didn’t stop at first, but when it was clear Kaz would follow him to the front door, he slowed down, and eventually stopped. “What do you want Rietveld?”

Kaz’s breathing was ragged as he wracked his brain for any words that could possibly work. He was usually good with words - he knew what to say to cut someone to the core. To get what he wanted, and to make people bend to his will. But not to make someone trust him. To possibly reciprocate the same feelings he felt. Something was so broken between them.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Jesper you -” he sighed. “You make me believe in something.”

Jesper turned a cold cheek and raised an eyebrow at him. “The fuck does that mean?”

Kaz chewed at his lip, which was raw. But it was nothing compared to the razor blade under his tongue, keeping him from saying what he wanted to say.  _ I love you, I don’t know how or why it happened but I do. _ But the words couldn’t spit out and turned sour and rotten on his tongue. “You’re the first person that made me think of something bigger than myself,” he managed to ground out. “Something bigger than me.”

“Oh Kaz,” Jesper said, and something on his face softened. Kaz’s breath hitched as he reached out a hand to his cheek. It was both soft from cocoa butter and rough from calluses. The sensation of skin on skin was almost too much for Kaz, and ugly memories reared their heads at the touch. He jerked his head away and the hurt in Jesper’s eyes, compounded on the anger, was too much. “Some people don’t want to be the place where you find God,” he said.

Kaz watched as Jesper’s jaw worked. “You can’t even touch me.”

“Jesper it’s not that -”

“I noticed it the very first day I tried to shake your hand Rietveld. You can try to pretend you’re not like them. But you are. You’re worse, because you pretended to be a friend. It’s easier to navigate the barricades of men like Pekka than land mines like you.” Jesper looked him up and down. “After we take care of Pekka, we’re through. Don’t ask me for jack shit. I will shoot first and ask questions later. And as you know -” Jesper’s hand moved to his gun. “I don’t miss.”

“Jes,  _ please, _ ” Kaz said, and hated the begging in his voice. The desperation. “Let me explain -”

“I’m done, Kaz,” he held his hands up, and turned around to walk away, and out of Kaz’s life.


	6. Epilogue - Pride is Stronger than Feelings

**Chicago, 1935**

It had been a year since Jesper put a bullet in Pekka Rollins and left his body to rot in a swamp. His wife and son would mourn, but it was hard to feel bad when the man had terrorized his family. Sometimes his mother would wake up sobbing at the memory of burning crosses.

Colm opened an Irish pub that already had great business. Many immigrants loved to come over and eat the hearty fare and good food, and most didn’t have shit to say about Aditi or Jes, not when Colm very obviously had a rifle behind the bar with him. They lived in the Southside in a duplex. With all the money, Jesper was able to have one half of the home for himself, and the other for his parents. They would never go without again, and if they were worried about the money or where it came from, they didn’t show it.

Sometimes Jesper missed farm life. He would close his eyes and think about the labor, the hard work under the sun and making things grow. But now he was a student at Chicago Normal University - a HBCU where he was finally getting the education he dreamed of. Where he could be who he was supposed to be. He was rebuilding his life on the ruins left behind.

He traded lightning bugs for street lamps, and the noisy cars that drove all through the south side of the city. But he was adapting. He knew Kaz or Wylan could turn him in at any moment, but he wasn’t worried. They seemed like a distant, foggy memory. 

Jesper had sent letters to Wylan to let him know where he was, what he was up to. But Jesper never received any written notes back. And after awhile, he gave up. Jesper was through putting in effort where he would not receive any. Now he was dating a pretty black girl named Camille with dark skin and full lips she liked to paint cherry-red instead. Her family had also moved from the South, and her parents thought he was a fine upstanding citizen.

“It’s a new migration Jes,” she whispered to him as they studied on the grass by Lake Michigan. She knew he liked anyone, she didn’t mind. His parents loved her. Nothing about him was shameful in her eyes. “A great negro migration, huh?”

“I guess so sweetheart,” he muttered, soaking up the sun amongst all the other black people in Chicago out and about on the beautiful sunny day. He didn’t know what the future held anymore. But it was his for the taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading along <3 comment, subscribe, all that good stuff. this was really cathartic to write as a fic. i know this ending is a bit sad but given the time period of the fic, what jesper doesn't know about kaz and wylan, and how everyone behaved, it felt right.


End file.
